"Well--after a while it suited me--to drop it. Perhaps I told him so a little abruptly. At any rate, he was disappointed. Now he has got an idea in his brain. He believes that I have discovered something which I will not tell him. He follows me about. He pesters me to death. He is a slave to that one idea--a hideous, almost unnatural craving to get his hands on the source of his brother's money. I think that he will very soon be mad. To tell you the truth, I came in here to-night because I thought I should be safe from him. I don't believe he has five shillings to get in the place." Wrayson lit a cigarette and smoked for a moment in silence. Then he turned towards his companion. "Heneage," he said, "I don't want to annoy you, but you must remember that this matter means a good deal to me. I am forced to ask you a question, and you must answer it. Have you really found anything out? You don't often give a thing up without a reason." Heneage answered him with greater composure than he had expected, though perhaps to less satisfactory effect. "Look here, Wrayson," he said, "you appreciate plain speaking, don't you?" Wrayson nodded. Heneage continued: "You can go to hell with your questions! You understand that? It's plain English." "Admirably simple," Wrayson answered, "and perfectly satisfactory." "What do you mean?" "It answers my question," Wrayson declared quietly. Heneage shrugged his shoulders. "You can get what satisfaction you like out of it," he said doggedly. "It isn't much," Wrayson admitted. "I wish I could induce you to treat me a little more generously." Heneage looked at him with a curious gleam in his eyes. "Look here," he said. "Take my advice. Drop the whole affair. You see what it's made of me. It'll do the same to you. I shan't tell you anything! You can swear to that. I've done with it, Wrayson, done with it! You understand that? Talk about something else, or leave me alone!" Wrayson looked at the man whom he had once called his friend. "You're in a queer sort of mood, Heneage," he said. "Let it go at that," Heneage answered. "Every man has a right to his moods, hasn't he? No right to inflict them upon his friends, you'd say! Perhaps not, but you know I'm a reasonable person as a rule. Don't--don't--" He broke off abruptly in his sentence. His eyes were fixed upon a distant corner of the room. Their expression was unfathomable, but Wrayson shuddered as he looked away and followed their direction. Then he, too, started. He recognized the miserable little figure whose presence a group just broken up left revealed. Heneage rose softly to his feet. "Let us go before he sees us," he whispered hurriedly. "Look sharp!"